


たばこ (tobacco)

by parkjinchu



Series: songfics [3]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M, Post-Break Up, Smoking, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/pseuds/parkjinchu
Summary: Caring about how I hate cigarettes,you'd smoke out on the balcony.Watching the curtains sway, my eyes become warm.You're not there anymore.songfic for koresawa's tabakothis is a work of fiction, and in no way represents the real lives of astro's members. in case of astro/fantagio/reasonable fan request, this fic will be taken downread full disclaimer on my profile





	たばこ (tobacco)

**Author's Note:**

> idk i just really love this song lately and it makes me so sad and hey why not project that onto my fav boys and you guys?? anyway i hope you like this lil drabbly thing

The seconds tick by on the clock. It’s been twenty-four hours.

Pulling the blanket further over his chin, Dongmin coils further into the warmth of his bed. The sheets swallow him up, allowing him to wallow in his sorrows, hidden away from the rest of the world. He had heard it rain, earlier, but he had not checked. He hadn’t stepped outside in the twenty-fours, hadn’t really left his bed much at all.

Dongmin can’t stop thinking about it. The yelling, the fighting. The way his face had looked, cigarette plucked out from between his lips, mouth curled downward. The way his eyes had watered, the way his cheeks burst into a hot blush as he screamed at Dongmin. Jinwoo was gone, now – he tried to tell himself it did not matter anymore, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

He seemed to know everything about Dongmin. How, when he slept, his body would overheat. Jinwoo had thought it cute the first night they shared a bed, as the snow had fallen outside their window glittering under the moonlight, and he had tucked himself into Dongmin’s warmth. Once the summer arrived, he’d learnt to sleep on the other side of the bed. He was waiting for winter to return – but they’ll never share another cold season, again.

He knew that Dongmin loved to be kissed. Treasured every single one, even if only a short peck. Jinwoo would tease him, make Dongmin chase him around the house for one last kiss. Would press them to his lips to surprise him, and giggle when Dongmin would blush and melt into the couch cushions.

Jinwoo knew that Dongmin hated cigarettes – yet, he couldn’t give up his habit. He hated the smell, would warn Jinwoo of the damage it did to his body. Jinwoo would shrug gently, a tiny smirk on his lips as he slipped an unlit cigarette between. There was always a far-off, twinkling look in his eyes whenever he smoked.

He would move out onto the balcony whenever he chose to smoke, aware of Dongmin’s distaste. Jinwoo would shut the door half-way so the breeze could still draw through, bend his arms over the edge of the balcony and shake the ashes out into the air. The smoke would curl out of his mouth in a thin, coiling cloud, and Dongmin would watch, captivated. How could he still like someone so much, when their favourite thing was what he hated the most?

Jinwoo knew so much about Dongmin. Respected and loved him. Dongmin tried to wonder what he knew of Jinwoo, in return; the only thing that came to his mind was the name of his favourite cigarettes.

A sob strangles his throat, and Dongmin coughs into his pillow, feeling his tears soak the pillow. Jinwoo had _cared_ about Dongmin, had taken the time and effort to care for him and get to know him. Dongmin had not done that – he hadn’t been able to move past his smoking habit.

 _You should look after me more carefully_ , Dongmin had joked, twenty-five hours ago. He peered out onto the balcony where the breeze filtered through Jinwoo’s hair, his chest rising as he sucked on a cigarette. He turned around, the cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He blew the smoke out the side of his mouth, so it trailed away in the wind behind him. _Second-hand smoke is bad for a person_.

Jinwoo hummed, smiling gently, and Dongmin felt his heart swell in his chest. _I do look after you_ , he had replied, taking one last drag of the cigarette and dropping it to the floor. His shoe twists out the butt, and he throws it into the ashtray. _I only smoke out here, anyway_.

Dongmin had sighed, leaning forward. _Maybe, I should look after_ you _more carefully, then_.

Dongmin wonders if he’ll ever forget the way Jinwoo’s face had transformed, twitching into one of anger. He had always ‘been on Jinwoo’s case’ for his habit. Maybe, finally, Jinwoo had reached his breaking point. Perhaps his love and patience had reached their use-by-dates.

Jinwoo had talked for so long about moving in to Dongmin’s apartment. Had mentioned how wonderful it would be to live with someone he loved, to wake up beside them every morning and go to bed with them in the evening. Yet, he never left anything behind to return to. Never a jumper, a charging cord, or toothbrush.

Dongmin’s mind flickers to the fight. Dongmin had thrown his phone at Jinwoo, watched it hit him in the chest and bounce onto the floor. In retaliation, Jinwoo had squeezed his box of cigarettes in his hand and thrown it to the ground, turned, and left.

He stumbles out of his bed, hurrying into the living room. Dongmin collapses by the coffee table, where the crumpled cigarette packet had rolled underneath. 

Jinwoo had never left anything behind to return to, though after the argument, he’d left one thing. Dongmin lifts the flimsy lid of the box, and instantly, the dank, harsh smell of the cigarettes fills his nose. He wants to scrunch his nose up in distaste, but instead, tears slip from his eyes and roll over his cheeks. It smells like Jinwoo.

The smell that had woven through his favourite knit sweaters. The smell that got stuck in his hair. The smell that lingered on his breath when he came back inside. Dongmin would wash his jumpers and scrub his hair with shampoo and feed him to disguise the scent, but he never could completely remove the stench. Though upsetting, it seemed Jinwoo was not himself with a pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket.

The scent of his tobacco wafts through the air. There are four cigarettes left in the packet, swimming around inside the box, waiting for their use. Jinwoo would have finished this box by today, perhaps tomorrow, if he had stuck around. Dongmin wonders, briefly, if he had gone and bought another box. Probably; he often smoked to relieve his distresses. Though, Dongmin wonders if Jinwoo is as upset as he.

He hadn’t realised how much he would lose, until he lost it.

Dongmin carefully plucks one of the sticks from the box. He holds it between his forefinger and middle finger, like the women in old fashion magazines – faux-elegance. He repositions it, holding it the way Jinwoo had, pinched between his thumb and index. Dongmin rolls it between the pads of his fingers, _knows_ how much damage cigarettes cause, but stands anyway. He heads to the kitchen, digging through the cupboards for a lighter.

He had always despised smoking. And, yet, he throws the window open and sticks the cigarette between his wobbling lips, and the lighter flickers to life. It takes a few clumsy and shaky attempts, but soon enough, the cigarette crackles to life. Unsure of what to do, he lets the end of it burn, a chunk of greying ash dancing to the floor.

He recalls how relaxed Jinwoo would seem, how his lungs would inflate and drag the tobacco in, how the white smoke would curl out from his smirking lips. He would kiss Dongmin at first, laugh as he tried to push the cigarette smoke into his mouth, knowing Dongmin hated it. Dongmin had laughed, too, at first.

He breathes in, the hot smoke attacking the back of his throat. He feels the fog puff his lungs up and burn along the edges, feels it wrap around the back of his throat. He rips the cigarette from between his teeth and coughs, trying to hack the flavour out of his mouth. It tastes worse than he had imagined, too strong and vile. How had Jinwoo dealt with this?

The room smells of him, now.

Dongmin feels his knees give out beneath him, and he falls to the tiles. The cigarette is poised between his fingers, ash glittering on the floor.

Jinwoo’s bitter smell, Jinwoo’s bitter taste. It fills him. Without Jinwoo, he feels empty.

At the very least, he found a substitute.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! i love feedback ;)  
> hmu on [twitter](twitter.com/parkjinchu) and [tumblr](parkjinchu.tumblr.com) and we can chat :)


End file.
